Trick or Treat
by MGMK
Summary: Maya's First Halloween - and almost someone else's too.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** Original title is original. I'm not particularly fond of this piece for…reasons, I guess. But, luckily (or unluckily, I haven't decided), it just fit so randomly within the Maya 13-month fic that I decided to post it as a standalone. Plus it's short and just…well, yeah. I apologize. But I'll make up for it with the next one, I promise. Also, all spelling and grammatical errors are still my own. Just beat my personal midnight deadline (sorry East Coasters and persons outside of the US) so I'm happy. Thanks for reading! And reviewing!

* * *

After many long months of scouring through applications and tireless efforts into research and background checks, Brittany and Santana finally settle on a babysitter.

And since they've hired him, Kurt's been over twice, Mercedes once, Rachel three times, and Jamie's rounding on six if she does in fact come over this afternoon.

It's gotten so bad that even the babysitter's starting to notice.

"Are you sure you even _need_ a baby sitter?" Brody asks, slipping on his coat.

Santana's just gotten back in – Brittany's due back any minute – and Maya's sitting quietly in the living room, munching on her set of plastic keys.

"Of course we do," Santana tells him, kicking off her shoes before going over to her daughter and picking her up for a quick kiss. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Because your friends seem to be around a lot," Brody answers, not unkindly. "Maybe they could just pitch in."

"Ah," Santana nods. "Yeah that's not the usual," she tells him, debating whether or not she should go further. "Look, I don't know how you _don't _know this, but you're an attractive guy Mr. Brody Weston. My friends are horn dogs who just like staring at you."

Brody blushes redder than a tomato. "Oh," he mumbles.

"I, however, harbor no such attraction," she smiles, bouncing Maya on her hip, "So no worries."

"Right," Brody grins, laughing when she fake-punches him in the arm. "So, I'm gonna go. Tell Brittany I said hello."

"Okay," Santana nods. "Bye Brody."

"Buh Browey," Maya echoes, opening and closing her fist in a wave.

"Bye, Maya," Brody chuckles, pausing in the doorway. "Hey, you guys still need me for Tuesday night, right?"

"Yep, yep," Santana nods. "Can't miss the Monster's Ball."

"Alright, I'll see you then," he says, almost running into Brittany on his way out. "Hi Brittany. Bye Brittany."

"Bye Brody," Brittany laughs, kicking the door closed behind her and tossing her keys onto the small door side table. "Santana," she rushes to say, "I have found the perfect Halloween costume for Pumpkin. By the way," Brittany adds, blowing a raspberry into Maya's cheek, "Hey Pumpkin."

"I thought we already decided on the Sunflower."

"Yeah, we did," Brittany continues, kicking off her shoes, "But then I was working on my draft and I thought the grand staircase looked a lot like the one in Cinderella and you know what Cinderella went to the ball in? A pumpkin. So…"

Brittany pulls the costume out of her bag. "Pumpkin can be a pumpkin!"

Santana smiles that soft, adoring smile at her wife. "I think that's an excellent idea."

"Oh, you think so, huh?" Brittany drawls, suddenly mischievous and Santana looks pointedly down at the baby talk-rambling Maya, still in her arms.

Brittany just grins, shrugging lightly. "Wait until you see _my_ costume."

***o*O*o***

The Monster's Ball – Puck's annual Rest-O-Bar bash, held in one of his banquet halls – doesn't seem like it's going to reach its maximum attendance this year but most of their friends make it –Tina and Artie had other plans – so they still have fun.

Although, Santana hazards her fun might have more to do with the alcohol in her system and the distinct lack of clothes Brittany has on.

Probably more of the latter.

"You're drooling, Satan," Mercedes – a.k.a. Diana Ross – says to her, joining her at her table. "Nice costume, by the way."

Santana glances down at her attire, noting with no small satisfaction that her breasts are almost spilling out of her red top. "I thought you might like it," she smirks, twirling her pitchfork idly.

"That was sarcasm," Mercedes jokes. "You know you're not wearing a costume. Uniform, maybe."

"Oh, I am so over this cowboy thing," Kurt laments, joining them and taking a long sip from Santana's drink, ignoring her frown in light protest. "I know gay men and chaps are supposed to go together, but I can assure you that my thighs do _not_ agree."

The song Brittany's dancing to finally ends and she peers around the room, searching out Santana and then smiles when she sees her, quickly making her way over.

Brittany's wearing these ridiculously short black hot pants and tight vest with a cleavage line so low Santana can see her belly button.

Her hair, lightly curled, falls free along her shoulders and the thigh high leather boots she's wearing completes the ensemble.

Initially, when she'd first come out of their bathroom with the costume on, Santana thought she was a cop and then she immediately thought of a list of things that would get her arrested, but then Brittany told her she was a Cyclops and that shelved all the handcuff scenarios.

(She still might buy some though).

It wasn't until later when Sam, wearing a long black wig, lipstick, and a silver-sequined glove and socks, explained Terminator 3 and cy_borgs_ to her, did Santana truly get Brittany's costume.

"Hey," Brittany says, sidling up next to her breathlessly. Santana can feel the heat coming off her body in waves and Brittany smells like a combination of her body wash, sweat, and something Santana can only ever describe as Brittany.

"Hi," Santana answers back, not really expecting it when her wife takes her by the back of the neck suddenly, pressing their mouths together and kissing her so deeply that she rocks back in her stool, back pressing against the bar.

She can hear their friends, Puck, Mike, and Sam, spurring them on and cheering loudly.

And even Blaine – Native American though not one of the Village People Blaine – releases a ridiculously girly giggle.

Eventually, Brittany eases up and Santana blinks her eyes open dazedly. "Not that I'm complaining," she grins, licking her lips, "But what was that?"

Brittany shrugs, snatching Santana's drink back from Kurt. "You're my wifey," she explains, taking a swift chug.

"So that gives you license to jump on me in public?" Santana teases, casting a fleeting look at their friends, now, gratefully distracted by Finncula's attempt at flopping about like a fish out of water.

He's actually pretty adept at that.

Brittany's eyes widen in faux disbelief. "That's one of the best perks of this marriage deal," she says, shocked that Santana doesn't know. "You want to know another one?"

Santana can guess by the way Brittany's eyes are fixed on her boobs that her wife's not about to say joint tax returns.

Brittany dangles the keys Santana instantly recognizes as the ones to the stock room in her face.

"The unlimited amounts of sex."

***o*O*o***

"Why do you never wear a costume at your own damn costume ball?" Mercedes is asking Puck when they rejoin their friends some time later.

Puck's about to answer when he catches sight of them and then his face falls. "Please tell me you didn't go in my office."

Brittany slides into the booth next to Mercedes, pulling Santana onto her lap afterward. "We didn't go in your office."

"One party," Quinn chuckles, "Can you guys go one party without sneaking off to have sex?"

"Already done," Santana answers, laying her head back lazily on Brittany's shoulder as she catches a case of the post-orgasm sleepies. "Maya's."

"Your one year-old daughter's party totally doesn't count," Quinn says with much amusement. "If we had to hose you two down there I'd have serious concerns for Madam Maya's psychological well-being."

"How's the new sitter, by the way?" Kurt asks, too drunk to wiggle his eyebrows discreetly.

"Oh, that reminds me," Brittany says, snapping her fingers across the table to get Blaine's attention. "Mr. Anderson, your man's got a crush on our baby-sitter."

"Ha," Mercedes snorts when Kurt turns red. "So does Rachel."

"Hey," Finn grumbles.

"Mercedes said he had a cute butt," Rachel defends.

Mercedes shrugs when Sam playfully glares at her. "You'd have thought so too, Sammy."

"Were you really checking out another guy's butt?" Finn asks Rachel, his fangs making him lisp like Cindy Brandy.

"Oh God," Rachel groans, rolling her eyes slightly. "Don't make this a _thing_, Finn. It's harmless."

"Yeah, Finn," Santana mumbles, "I can assure you that Brody is not interested. He thinks they're all stalking him anyway."

"Alright guys," Mike announces, setting down a tray full of drinks, "Who's ready for another roun-WHOA!"

They all watch with widened eyes as the usually unnaturally coordinated Mike slips so drastically his legs flip up in the air and he lands flat on his back, groaning woefully.

"Man," he grumbles, pushing himself up with his hands – well one hand, one hook, "What spilled on the floor?"

As everyone laughs Brittany peeks under the table, curious. "Wow," she says, spotting the puddle easily, "What is that?"

"I don't know," Mike says, frowning up his face at the stuff on his hands. "It's everywhere and it's coming from…" he trails off, spotting the source and then peering up over the table with wide eyes, "…Quinn."

The laughter dies down and Quinn's shifts self-consciously, rolling her eyes at herself. "Did I pee while laughing again?"

"Even _I_ know it's not pee, Quinn," Finn says and a lot of things happen all at once.

Mercedes flips her ever-loving shit. "Move!" she shouts, pushing Sam, Brittany, and Santana all out of the booth at once.

Rachel gasps excitedly, clapping her hands together. "It's just like _The Learning Channel_."

Mike whimpers, trying to figure out where to wipe his hands.

Puck goes to Quinn's aide, ready to help her out the booth.

And Quinn….Quinn just sits there.

"'kay," Kurt says, looking at her oddly. "Okay, Quinn, honey, I'm not sure if you know this or not but you're kind of going into labor."

"I'm not having my baby on Halloween," Quinn announces, grimacing a little as she sips her water.

Santana stares at her, wide-eyed. "You don't really have a choice."

"Sure I do," Quinn says, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm going to sit here, at this table, until after midnight. Then, we'll go to the hospital."

"Quinn, a word if I may," Rachel broaches, carefully. "Now, usually, I'm overwhelmingly supportive in any and all of your endeavors – blindly so, even though you consistently remind me that I'm 'dating down' or whatever that means – but, WE HAVE TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW, WOMAN!"

"It's a sad day when Rachel makes the most sense," Brittany murmurs into Santana's ear, looking on worriedly for Quinn's next move.

"Quinn, come on," Santana says, reaching for her to help tug her up. "Quit playing games. We gotta get going."

"Look you," Quinn nearly growls, slamming her hands on the table and pushing herself up into a standing position, albeit wobbly, "all of you. I _will_ not have _my_ child come into this world on the devil's day. I'm not spastically religious but delivering a baby on Hell Night seems a lot like starting off on the wrong foot. So I cannot, no, I _will not_ have m-"

Quinn pitches forward suddenly, clutching low on her stomach, nearer to her pelvis and Santana looks at her with a bored almost disinterested look on her face.

"Hurt doesn't it?" she asks Quinn, wrinkling her nose in mock sympathy.

Quinn moans. "Uh huh."

Santana nods, speaking gentler. "Ready to go the hospital now?"

"Uh huh."

***o*O*o***

Quinn has a quick delivery.

So quick that in spite of them getting to the hospital at a little after ten she does almost end up delivering before midnight

As it is, Elijah Russell Puckerman is born November 1 at 12:02 A.M. and not a minute sooner.

He's healthy, bald, and wailing the first time Brittany and Santana get a glimpse of him – proud Papa Puck holding him up to the window from inside the nursery – and Brittany's so overwhelmed by it, she actually starts to sniffle a little.

"Oh, don't start crying Britt-Britt," Santana says, arms wrapped around Brittany as she peers at the baby and Noah from behind her. "If you start crying then I'm gonna start."

Brittany chokes out a quiet laugh. "You're already crying," she murmurs calmly, before adding teasingly, "You big ol' softie."

"He's gorgeous," Sam whispers, his forehead pressed against the glass as he peers closer. Brittany watches as he seeks out Mercedes' eyes, pulling her closer into him. "Any day now," he mumbles quietly, and she can hear the wishful longing in his voice.

She's about to ask them what that exchange is all about when a nurse interrupts their quiet, letting them know they can see Quinn now.

"Excuse me," the nurse asks, tapping Rachel gently on the arm as she goes to pass by. "Are you, Rachel Berry?"

"Why yes," Rachel answers, tossing her hair back over her shoulder grandly, hitting Finn in the face in the process, "Yes I am."

The nurse's eyes light up. "I've seen your musical."

"Oh, have you?"

"I have," the woman nods, pushing up her glasses, "And I think I'm in it. My name's Suzy, you see. Suzy Pepper."

Rachel blanches, her smile dimming exponentially.

"Yeah, you should be receiving litigation in the mail."

***o*O*o***

When they finally make it home, Brody's sitting slumped over on their couch, breathing deeply, baby monitor held securely in hand.

Brittany instantly goes to check on Maya while Santana makes her way over to him, shaking his shoulder gently. "Hey Brody," she says quietly when he stirs. "We're back."

Brody blinks owlishly, re-acclimating himself to his surroundings. "Okay," he yawns, stretching a little. "Is the baby okay?"

"Perfectly fine. Ten fingers and ten toes," she tells him as he stands, swaying on the spot.

"That's," Brody yawns again, "…good."

"Maya's KO'd, San," Brittany says, joining them and observing the clearly drowsy Brody attempting to slip his shoes on with a grin. "Is he gonna be okay to drive?" she asks Santana amusedly, leaning onto the back of the couch.

"I'm not sure," Santana says, snapping her fingers in his face. "Brody!"

"Hmm," Brody startles to attention. "What?"

"You know, you can totally crash on the couch," she tells him.

"Nah," Brody dismisses, waking up a little bit more. "I'm fine. I don't wanna intrude. Plus, that'd be all kinds of unprofessional."

"Please," Brittany dismisses, patting the sofa cushions invitingly, "It's not intruding if we offer. And the only thing unprofessional here would be us letting you drive home now when you're clearly two blinks away from unconsciousness."

Brody just sways a little more, saying nothing.

"Brody," Santana tries again.

"Hmm?"

"Go to sleep."

"Mmm kay," he mumbles out, falling back against the sofa and tuckering out promptly.

Brittany giggles, shutting off the table lamp before reaching around in the darkness until she finds Santana. "You know," she starts, walking them slowly to their bedroom, making sure to keep her voice low, "We covered the trick in Puck's restaurant – nice moves by the way, Satan."

Santana chuckles darkly. "I try."

"That you do," Brittany says, stopping halfway down the hallway to drop a series of lingering kisses onto the skin of Santana's neck, her collarbone. "But," Brittany continues, resuming their slow walk until they reach their bedroom doorway, "We didn't exactly get around to the treat."

Santana's eyes blinks open when Brittany suddenly postures herself so that she's behind her and Santana takes in the red light illuminating their room, the black satin sheets on their bed.

Brittany did a little bit more than check up on Maya it seems.

"What did you have in mind?" she asks, her mind literally over-working with scenarios but they all crash to an abrupt halt when Brittany dangles something else shiny and metallic in Santana's eye line.

And they are _not_ Puck's keys.

***o*O*o***

Maya prances – that's the _only_ word for it, Brittany decides – in her pumpkin costume, completely elated to be in it, despite a brief yet very real initial fright of the face make-up.

"Hey Pumpkin, what do you say?" Brittany asks her, the whir of their digital camera focusing in on her.

Maya grins up at them, squinting as if the light from the camera is affecting her. "Twick Tweet!" she announces cutely.

Santana aww's at the whole thing, holding out the wrapped fruit strip. "Here you go, sweetie," she tells her, beckoning for Maya to hold out her bucket so she can drop the treat in.

Maya looks inside her bucket giddily, shaking it to rattle the snack around.

"And that's how trick-or-treating works, Pumpkin," Brittany explains, still watching the scene on the camera's screen.

Maya peers up at them again, clearly contemplating something.

"Twick Tweet!" she says again, this time holding the bucket out expectantly.

"Methinks she's got it," Santana nods, dropping another piece inside.

Maya barely looks at it this time.

"Twick Tweet!"

***o*O*o***

Santana's arms are full of a very tired pumpkin when they make it back home again that evening, the little girl having tuckered out from the visits to various friends, a couple neighbors, and both of their parents' homes.

"You wanna try waking her up to get this stuff off of her face," she asks Brittany as her wife locks up behind them, tiredly.

"Nah," Brittany manages to say through a hearty yawn. "She'll be all cranky-pants then," she murmurs, brushing a finger along Maya's smudged black makeup on her nose.

Santana takes Maya to her room while Brittany continues their nighttime ritual before thinking better of it and bee-lining for their bedroom instead.

Tonight just feels like a family night.

"Pumpkin's sleeping with us tonight?" Brittany asks, slipping a t-shirt before climbing onto their bed.

"Yeah," Santana answers, lying Maya down carefully, being even more careful as she slips her arms and legs out of the pumpkin costume, "I just kind of want her close tonight. You don't mind do you?"

Brittany looks at her like she's suddenly sprouted an extra head. "When have I ever minded that?"

Santana smiles, watching Maya snuggle down further into their covers. She goes to their dresser to retrieve a sleep shirt as Brittany climbs into bed, watching her quietly.

"Come to bed, San," Brittany instructs and when Santana turns to look, her wife's looking at her with this look that is clearly borderline amused.

"Don't say a word," Santana warns, sliding under the covers and moving as close as she can to her wife and daughter.

"I didn't say anything," Brittany defended, holding her hands up before lying down.

A beat.

"San, your lamp's still on."

A beat.

"I know."

Three beats.

"Are you gonna turn it off?"

There's a long silence, followed by a heavy sigh and some rustling of the sheets before, "I can't," Santana says in a small voice.

Brittany tries to stop the laugh, she truly does but it's nearly impossible. "Santana, he wasn't even all that scary."

"Shut up."

"And you know who it was under the mask the whole time," Brittany keeps going, "How can you still be scared?"

"Keep talking, Britt and see what I do," Santana threatens lightly.

"Psh," Brittany dismisses easily. "You don't scare me."

"I might not but the clown outside our bedroom window will," Santana snipes back and Brittany's chuckles die down instantly.

"Santana."

"Yeah, Britt?"

"Leave the light on."


End file.
